


Gotham

by Jasontoddjr



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Gen, might add more characters later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 09:49:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11598114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jasontoddjr/pseuds/Jasontoddjr
Summary: It had been one of their regular fights, increasing in frequency and intensity. Jason had broken both wrists of an attempted rapist and instead of being thankful he had saved the damsel in distress, Bruce has growled “To the cave. Now.”





	Gotham

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't proofread this yet but since I might be without wifi soon I'm posting it here anyway.

It had been one of their regular fights, increasing in frequency and intensity. Jason had broken both wrists of an attempted rapist and instead of being thankful he had saved the damsel in distress, Bruce has growled “To the cave. Now.” 

Back in the cave Jason had thrown his costume on the floor of the changing room and had immediately gone to the training grounds and his fists and legs had almost torn the punching bag to pieces. He had recently gone through a growing spurt; his muscle mass has been increasing seemingly potentially. Alfred had told him last week while putting the new, and hopefully fitting clothes in his closet, that with the rate his 15 years-old body is going, he might even surpass Bruce in size and bulkiness within a year or two. That thought had rendered him in a euphoric mood for several days.

The bat mobile and its single occupant had arrived two hours later in the cave. After an angry “Where is he?” Alfred had pointed Bruce to the training grounds. Jason had been lifting what looked like 150 kg. He had all but thrown the weights on the floor when he had spotted Bruce in his complete batman attire. Bruce’s self-righteous, condescending lecture on violence had only made his blood pressure rise with an alarming speed. He had yelled back, things he doesn’t really remember exactly anymore. It was nothing new. Until Bruce had grabbed him from the front of his shirt. The fire that was burning through him, filling him with the familiar rage, had immediately gone out, as if quenched with ice cold water.

The feeling was familiar, he had once gone on the frozen lake as a dare from the boys who lived across the street when he was 7. Everything was going well, he had almost crossed it, when a loud crack beneath him broke the frozen surface, plunging him in ice cold darkness. It had felt as if every part of his body had stopped working. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t see he couldn’t think. He doesn’t really remember what happened after that but apparently, a brave stranger had saved him.  
That’s how he felt when Bruce had lifted him up by his shirt, effortlessly as if he was nothing more than a rag doll. As if all the muscle and strength he had gained in the past three years had been for naught. He was 6 again and he was not on the training ground but on the mouldy couch in their old apartment. He was watching Pokémon on the television, which was a rare occasion since the tv didn’t work most of the time. He had completely forgotten his mum has ordered him to go buy bread from the bakery two streets away. 

Suddenly he wasn’t on the couch anymore but several feet above the ground, face to face with his dad, almost choking because of the hand twisted in his collar. His dad was screaming at him. “Can’t you do anything right you useless, worthless waste of money and space.” Every word had been accompanied with a vicious shake that felt like his head was about to roll of his body. There had been more screaming and then he was thrown across the room, the way his dad used to toss empty bottles of beer around.  
Next thing he remembers is waking up in his room throwing up on the only blanket he owned and his first though was my dad will definitely kill me this time. His head had been shaved and there was a patch on the back of his head. Later they had told him he had hit his head against the table and they had to sew him back together.

His body suddenly hit the floor and he jerked back to reality, to the here and now: he was in the cave, on the floor of the training facility and Batman was towering over him. He couldn’t read the expression on his face, but that was nothing new. Reading people’s expressions had never been his forte and has led to several bruised limbs over time, and Bruce had a trademark poker face. He could never gauge the man, especially not when he was wearing his Batman suit. The only expression he seemed to capable of was disapproval.

Sitting on the ground he could hear his erratic heartbeat and he was feeling sick. Familiar feelings that accompanied blasts of the past. He wondered how his mind could produce these two memories who had nothing to do with each other in such a short time. He jumped to his feet unsteadily and felt as if he was six again and under the mercy of his drunk or not drunk father. He half expected Bruce to loosen the utility belt and to hit him with it.  
“Are you… okay?” He hesitantly asked instead. Jason almost had to laugh. Batman sounding hesitant? Unreal. He also wanted to scream and to cry. Instead he put up his best blank face (he had an excellent teacher after all) and left the room without answering or sparing another glance at Bruce. He left the cave. And the manor. And Bruce. And Alfred. The last thought sting. He still felt guilty for throwing his suit ungraciously on the floor earlier. Alfred had been nothing but good for him. He really didn’t deserve him. Nor did Bruce. But life was unfair, a lesson he had learned very early in his life.

He hadn’t take anything with him but the sweaty clothes on his back, a gray t-shirt and light blue shorts. He almost snorted at the thought of paparazzi spotting and recognising him in his current state. Then he wanted to punch himself in the face. Seriously, paparazzi? He was in more serious trouble than that. He was back on the street, a runaway and a failed robin. He could almost see Dick returning to the manor just to tell Bruce “I told you so”, Barbara shaking her head in disappointment and Alfred…  
He had to swallow hard at the thought of him. The only person who had treated him equally. Alfred, who had home-schooled him until he was ready to join middle school. Alfred, who had taught him how to make soups of all colours and flavours and dishes from around the world. Alfred, who had felt like the family he never had. He wiped his eyes and nose with his arm only to realise his shirt was sleeveless and he had tears and snot all over his arm.

He was dirty, homeless and poor. With other words, back to square one. But hey, if anything about Jason Todd was true, it was that he was a survivor. He survived his abusive father and his neglectful mother as a child. He survived the streets as a child. He survived Bruce damn it. He will survive the streets as a teenager. 

He always knew the only logical outcome for him was to end up on the streets again. The first months at the manor he had slept with a duffel bag full of canned food and spare clothes, waiting for the moment Bruce will finally realise taking in Jason had been a mistake. As the months flew by and Alfred kept assuring him that the manor was his home and he will never be thrown out, he started believing him. After Bruce had adopted him he even let himself dream. Dreams of a home and a father and a family.  
However lately he had been disagreeing with Bruce more often than not. His patrols were almost always cut short after he broke one or another of Bruce’s countless rules. “We are here to deliver them to justice, not as executioner” and other bullshit. Who gave Bruce the position of “Protector of Gotham” anyway? He knew nothing of Gotham even though he deluded himself that he did. He had spent his whole life safe and sound in Wayne manor or travelling around the globe. 

Jason however knew Gotham inside out. He knew its streets. He knew the poor, the thugs and thanks to Bruce even the pretentious rich upper-class. Gotham was not the “City of Batman”, as some have dubbed it. Nor was it the development project of Bruce Wayne.

No, Gotham was the city of the Gothamites. It was a rotten, foul and corrupted place, no matter how much Bruce liked to waste his parent’s fortune on it. He can not make it his, nor would it bend to his rules. He can’t fix it, no matter how hard he tried, something that just wouldn’t go through that thick skull of his.

But Jason understands Gotham. He knows its incorrigible, as are its inhabitants. No matter how often you put the crazies back in Arkham, they will still escape over and over again. They will not be “fixed” or “cured” or whatever shit was going on in Arkham. He had heard quite disturbing stories about it, but Bruce still believed in the system. What a joke. He didn’t blame “the system” however. It’s not their fault half of the Gothamites were either crazy or corrupt. It was just Gotham. 

So instead of trying to fix and cure it, Jason will do his own thing. He will control it. he will bring Gotham under his control.

**Author's Note:**

> So I've written this without a clear outcome in mind, my first attempt for a multi-chaptered story. I'm free to suggestions and critique


End file.
